


After the Storm

by ScreamingViking



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-06 18:59:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4233099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScreamingViking/pseuds/ScreamingViking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After all the crises, Tifa is slowly healing even if she has to do it alone. The red headed man in her bar is trying to doing the same. Together they may find more then just shared pain to escape but shared happiness to strive for. TifaXGenesis, set after Dirge of Cerberus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tifa didn't know how it had started. She wasn't even sure when it had started. At first he had been just another customer at her bar, but now he was something else. Something that had her smiling softly when she thought no one was looking, that had her spontaneously investigating the nicer clothes in the back of her wardrobe.

The first night he had appeared at Seventh Heaven she hadn't recognized him. He had sat at a table in the corner and mulled over a glass of Banora White wine, drawing very little attention to himself. The auburn hair did nudge at something in her memory but she had other customers demanding her attention and there was no time to sort through old recollections. He was drinking one of the most expensive liquors she had in stock and wasn't causing any trouble so she was content to let him be.

He came back on occasion. She could never predict when, but he always ordered the same glass of wine and sat alone for a few hours. When his drink was delivered he would raise a silent toast, to whom or what she couldn't say. She could guess though.

It wasn't uncommon these days, after all the disasters, to see people on their own. The survivors, remembering those who were gone.

Meteor. Geostigma. Deep Ground.

So much had been lost. The world was in tatters and few knew what to make of the remaining pieces. She saw it so very often in her steady stream of customer, people looking back and wondering how it all fell apart so spectacularly. Once she could have even been numbered amoungst them. For more time than she was happy to admit she had fretted and regretted while Cloud entered and left her life with such frequency that she ought to have installing a revolving door.

In the end it had taken Cid to shake her out of her stupor. He had been stopping by at the same time that Cloud left on another of his soul searching pilgrimages. He watched her stare mournfully at the departing blonde and asked with all the tenderness of a dear friend: "Tifa, what the hell are you doing?"

Cid's candid question pulled her up short. In response she did a little soul searching of her own.

After that, life began anew for her, even if it was still the same by all appearances. She still worked her bar and provided a ready ear for all her friends but there was no more moping, no more looking back with the doleful eyes of a victim. She had a life to live and it was about time she started doing just that. She told Cloud he was welcome to tag along if he so wished.

As it turned out, he did not.

Her bar had thrived all the more after that. The red headed man she almost remembered but didn't quite, became an irregular regular. One Saturday night when Seventh Heaven was at its busiest, he came but couldn't have an entire table to himself and instead sat at the bar. She smiled, made idle conversation, and served him his drink. He smiled back and thanked her in a lightly accented voice. Then she noticed that his eyes glowed.

It wasn't a trick of the light. They were a vibrant blue with an inner glow she was far too familiar with.

Mako.

Of course, she didn't react as violently as many would have. She just continued wiping the bar and serving drinks. She didn't stare or cause a fuss. Given his cautious look she suspected he had noticed her double take.

After Deepground there were a lot of people with mako poisoning. Most of them had been trapped within the hidden labs; people were afraid and blamed them for the crisis. Tifa however knew what it was like to lose yourself within mako and not know how to find your way back. Clouds blank stare as he sat in a wheel chair in Mideel was an image she would never forget.

This man clearly wasn't so crippled. He sat straight and tall, despite the telling shadow of grief in his eyes. Naturally vivid red hair fell to just above his eyes and he wore a non-descript brown leather coat that had seen better days.

He might have been gotten his mako years ago in a freak accident. It could be totally innocent. Or he could even have been a SOLDIER, now alone in a world that had so quickly turned on them. After Sephiroth and Meteor the public had demonized everyone who had ever so much as looked in Shinra's direction. She couldn't blame them; she had done the same once. It made it so much more difficult for those who had been wrapped up with the Mega Corporation. Even Cloud, who was lauded with saving the world by so many, was still sneered at for his glowing eyes.

Hers was one of the few bars in town that served ex Shinra employees without causing a fuss. It wasn't something she advertised but it was understood. They had made mistakes, everyone had, but now it was time to rebuild. Providing a safe place to drink and to forget, or to remember, was Tifa's rebuilding effort.

So as the red headed man with the glowing eyes looked at her expectantly, waiting for her outrage and horror, she smiled softly and topped up his glass.

"On the house." she said quietly before moving on. Everybody needed somewhere to relax.

Later, when the evening was winding down and most customers had either gone home or fallen into blissful numbness, he remained.

She'd almost forgotten he was there. He only ordered two drinks and then retreated into his own private world. It had been a busy evening and she was nearly run off her feet filling orders. She was collecting glasses and feeding racks of the dirty ones into the sterilizer when she noticed him still sitting quietly at the bar, his eyes idly following her.

It wasn't the leering stare of a drunk who had forgotten how dangerous she was, or the love-struck gaze that was common near the end of the evening.

"Do you know who I am?" He asked softly, something curious in his eyes.

She dragged a rack of filthy, beer stained glasses from atop the bar into the sterilizer below. Stretching slightly to ease the strain from the work, she gave him a once over. The red hair nudged faintly at an old memory, but it skittered away before she could grasp it. She couldn't give a name to the man before her but she felt that once she might have.

"I've seen you before… somewhere. I don't know your name." she said finally.

He gave a small smile and looked down at the polished bar before him. His expression was ever so slightly bitter but it held an edge of relief.

"The world appears to have forgotten." He said, looking up at her again. "I find myself envious."

"Who are you?"

"Today? Today I am nobody." He replied, resignation in his eyes. "And today, I am content with that." He held up his glass, verging on empty, in a mock toast.

She gave a slightly worn smile and held up a dirty glass with the last of someone else's beer in it.

"Me too." She said, meeting his toast. Once it would have hurt. Today she smiled. He drained his glass with a wince. She put her dirty glass in an empty rack.

"A woman as beautiful as yourself could never be nobody." He said, lowering his glass and idly watching for her reaction.

"Charmer." She replied with a dry smile, taking the glass and placing it with the others. "If looks were all that mattered neither of us would have any problems."

That earned her a dry chuckle.

* * *

He returned on occasion. Weeks passed and sometimes he would stay as the evening wore on and then share a silent toast with her, his glass nearly empty and hers borrowed. Some weeks he didn't come at all.

One evening there was a storm, far stronger than most that hit Edge and Tifa was considering closing early. There were very few customers. Anyone with sense would be at home, curled up in front of the fireplace. The wind was roaring outside, the rain falling hard and fast and sporadic bursts of lightning illuminated the darkness. The building groaned and she knew her two adopted kids upstairs would be hiding under their blankets.

Then the unnamed man arrived, his red hair darkened by the rain. She leaned back against the bar and watched him attempt to dry himself off.

"You're brave, to come out in this weather. It's going to be miserable tonight." She said when he had deposited himself in a barstool, like the most dignified of bedraggled rats.

"True, but I would much rather be miserable here then miserable by myself." He said, trying to flick the rainwater from his hair. Mako enhancements meant he would be less affected by the cold but the wet seemed to be irritating him enough to make up for it.

"Misery does love company." She said, reaching up for the bottle of his usual. "But in my bar, maybe you'll leave a little of it behind."

"Wouldn't that be nice." He said with a sigh. She recognized the sound; it was the sigh of someone miring in depressed philosophy. Vincent was especially good at it.

"Some pains will hound you no matter where you sit." He murmured.

"Only if you let them." She said quietly.

He looked up at her with an unusually honest expression. Regret.

"No amount of wishful thinking can fix some things." He replied sombrely.

"True." She said with a sad smile. "But then wishful thinking never fixed anything anyway."

"Perhaps not, but it can be a great comfort." He said, bitter amusement in his eyes.

"Sure, as comforting as a stiff drink. Sooner or later you get to the bottom of the glass." She said while pouring his. She couldn't help but speak in alcohol metaphors and he raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'm a bartender." She said with a shrug. "It's my job to give sage advice."

He accepted that truth with a tilt of his head. Pseudo philosophy was part of the service.

The night wore on, few others coming in, so she stayed and they spoke quietly together. It was tame conversation, neither personal nor daring, but a comfort nonetheless. He was composed and opinionated, despite saying little. She had the strangest feeling that he might be harbouring a vivacious and dramatic side beneath his downtrodden persona and she was curious to find it. For his part he listened intently to her and seemed to revel in conversing freely.

She hadn't expected to spend half the evening discussing theatre, or to find herself so interested in the subject.

Later, when his glass was nearly empty and it was becoming increasingly obvious that storm wasn't going to abate he rose to leave. Everybody else was already gone and Tifa had nearly run out of things to clean.

He was almost at the door when she called out to him.

"You aren't nobody, you know."

He turned his head to look at her, his brow furrowed for a second as recalled the conversation from weeks ago. She was leaning against the bar with a broom propped up against her shoulder. She didn't know what had made her speak, but it felt important.

"Who am I then?" He asked, mako eyes glowing with intensity.

She could hardly know the answer to that question if he didn't. It was a familiar refrain though.

"That's up to you." She said with a shrug. She'd figured out who she was and who she wanted to be, she could only hope that he would do that same.

"And who are you?" He said, turning fully back to her.

"I'm Tifa." She said with a full smile. "Tifa Lockhart."

"It's been a pleasure, Tifa." He said, giving her a low bow.

* * *

"Why are you here?" He asked her nearly a month later.

"Well, I do own the place." She replied smiling as she wiped down the bar, the dishcloth obliterating spills mercilessly.

He was here during the daytime, something that had just recently become a more regular occurrence. He had even broken tradition and ordered food instead of just inordinately expensive wine. He still sat tall and straight, as though expecting to be called to attention, while dining on disposable bar food. The edge of regret and resignation never left his eyes, but he smiled at her and kept coming back.

It had not escaped her attention that his hair caught the sun magnificently and his glowing eyes complimented the look. She didn't know if she should be excited or scared. Glowing eyes and remarkable hair had never ended well for her before.

She didn't even know his name.

"Why are you in Edge," He pressed, "Running a bar for the miserable? Looking after orphans?" Marlene and Denzel were frequently seen in the bar during the day. Sometimes they even did homework while sitting in the booths.

"Somebody ought to do it." She said, focusing on a particularly stubborn stain on the varnish.

"So it's duty?" He asked with lifted chin.

"No." She replied haltingly, pausing in her cleaning. Duty wasn't the word for the things she did. "I don't have to. Nobody even asked me to." Well, Barret did some days, but that wasn't the point.

"Then why bother?" He looked at her like she was a puzzle.

"Because somebody should. And it's a pleasure to do something that benefits others."

He gave her a very sceptical look.

"You don't believe me!" She exclaimed in mock outrage, her hands on her hips.

"I don't see how humouring lowlifes could possibly be pleasurable." He said, flicking his hair in disdain.

"I would hardly call you a lowlife." She replied sweetly.

"Perhaps that's ignorance speaking." He replied dryly. "Regardless, it sounds exhausting."

"It is tiring. It's very hard work." She leaned sideways to rest her elbow on the bar and felt her back stretch painfully. "But it's nowhere near as exhausting as sulking and nursing dead dreams." She said, watching him and wondering how he'd react.

"You hide a whip-like tongue beneath that disarming smile." He said, his piercing eyes and wry smile amused at her nerve. "And I am not sulking."

"Who said I was talking about you?" She said.

"You're a bar tender. Isn't it your job to give sage advice?"

"Advice gleaned from hard won experience." She said, wringing out the cloth and setting it aside. The bar was spotless. "It was a long road to this bar."

"Then I am glad you made it." He said with a fond smile. "You are a brighter light then Edge deserves."

She definitely needed to know his name. And his phone number.

Why was it only the troubled ones ever caught her eye?

* * *

"You're a kick boxer?" He asked with a raised brow one day. One of the other patrons had forgotten his manners as she walked past and let his hands wander.

Tifa did not put up with such behaviour. The impolite patron and his two friends, construction workers going by the uniforms they still wore, had been immediately shown the error of their ways. Now they were outside, two of them nursing black eyes and the third sitting on the cold ground and wondering how he had gotten there.

The red headed man looked at her with curiosity and renewed interest.

"Close." She said, rolling her shoulders to release the tension. "Zangan style martial arts."

"That's not close at all." He said, giving her a far more thorough perusal that she most definitely didn't blush under. "Your style is far more advanced and far more difficult to master."

"True." She agreed mildly, it was far more complicated than kick boxing. "But I like to let people think it's about the same."

He chuckled.

"You must be quite the deadly surprise on the battlefield, Tifa." He said with an appreciative smile.

"Shh! Don't tell anyone." She said with a stage whisper and a wink. He rolled his eyes.

"And of course you're a swordsman." She said idly, leaning against the bar and looking sideways at him. He froze for a moment and then looked at her almost sharply.

"'Of course'?" He questioned, his voice carefully neutral.

"Your hands." She replied, nodding at where he had them interlocked on the bar. He usually wore gloves but today the hardened digits and scarred knuckles of a swordsman were visible. He looked at them as though they had betrayed him somehow.

"Perhaps I wield a spear." He offered loftily.

"Not with those calluses you don't." she replied lightly. "Or with your physique."

His careful neutrality dissolved into something very pleased.

"You're very observant, Tifa." He drawled, his piercing eyes glinting at her with amusement.

She felt a blush start to creep up her neck as she realised what she'd said. It wasn't particularly outrageous, oh but he made it sound sinfully decadent.

"Oh, you know exactly what I meant." She said, her smile becoming a bit more self-conscious.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of Tifa. I don't blame you for observing my body." He continued with his smile sly and self-satisfied at her blush.

She barely refrained from dropping her head into her hands. Since when was she so hopeless at flirting? Dammit, she wasn't a teenager blushing in front of a first crush; she wasn't going to be reduced to a stuttering mess just because his eyes and voice were a wicked combination that had just blind sided her.

Finally taking mercy on her he relented and changed the subject.

"How did you come to learn Zangan style?" He enquired, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands and watching her thoughtfully. "It isn't widely taught in civilian or even military sectors."

That subject was hardly more comfortable for her, but he couldn't have known that.

"Master Zangan lived in my village when I was a child." She said softly. "I asked him to teach me to fight because there were wolves and sometimes even dragon attacks in the area."

_"..no matter where the winds may blow…"_  He said absently, looking away for a moment. She didn't know what it meant but the words were oddly familiar. In the same way that he was familiar. She stood up straighter, looking at him anew.

"And where was that? Your home town?" He asked cautiously, snapping back into the present. He watched her now with a pinning gaze that bordered on disconcerting. "There aren't many places with both wolves and dragons."

"Nowhere interesting." She replied, her smile half-hearted.

She knew this man. It wasn't a maybe. She definitely recognized him. The only question was how?


	2. Chapter 2

"Tifa." He said at the end of a long day when all the other customers had left, the edge of regret strong in his eyes. "My name is Genesis."

Her head snapped up to stare at him. Memories instantly clicked into place because she knew that name, everyone had once.

"Genesis Rhapsodos." She said, her voice hoarse with realisation. Anger, confusion, hatred, pity, and a million other things rushed through her. The feelings threatened to choke her and she sat heavily on the nearest bar stool.

"So you do know who I am." He said darkly, looking back at his empty glass.

She knew alright. He was a SOLDIER. One of the best. He had been infamous for the slaughter he wrought on Shinra's behalf, almost as much as S-

"You were in Nibelheim." She shocked herself with how calm her voice was. "The day it burned. And before, at the Reactor." It was almost funny how she could have forgotten such a detail from the worst day of her life. Perhaps she had been so focused on the villain centre stage that everything else had fallen away. What he had been doing there the day her town burned and her family was slaughtered she didn't know.

Her comment shocked him. He looked at her again, realisation in his eyes.

"You were the mountain guide. I had thought Seph-" He cut himself off from saying the name and they both looked away. "I thought he killed you." He said roughly.

"I guess I was lucky." She replied harshly, getting up again with a surge of energy. "Why are you here? What do you want?" Her hands clenched into fists, as much from confusion as her anger. Why him? Why now? What more could the past through in her face?

"I came only for a drink." He said sadly, putting aside the empty glass.

She didn't know what to think, the rush of emotions swirling inside of her made it impossible for her to think straight. She didn't say anything; she just stared at him, the mad swirl of emotions plain across her face. He saw and sighed, hanging his head for a moment.

"I am sorry, Tifa. I should not have been so bold. I will leave you in peace." He rose from his seat. He bowed slightly at her and then turned to leave.

She watched him walk away, shocked that he surrendered so easily. The newspapers had once spoken of a man outrageous and daring, who had the nerve to take whatever he wanted and stand unrepentant afterwards. The one walking away from her now didn't match that description.

He was quiet. Broken. With only the shadow of something vivacious hiding behind eyes tinged with regret.

Dammit all, her hands weren't clean either. She was moving on; didn't he deserve the chance to at least try?

He reached for the door handle.

"He was your friend, wasn't he?" She asked, knowing his enhanced ears would pick it up. "Or did the newspapers invent that too?"

He looked at her over his shoulder. They both knew who she was talking about.

"He was my friend. Once."

His voice was empty and she swallowed dryly. She fidgeted for a moment, building up the nerve to say what she needed to.

"A toast then." She said. "To friends lost."

He spun around then to face her.

"You would toast Sephiroth's memory?" He demanded, confusion and disbelief clear on his face. The unspeakable name was finally out in the open. The building didn't collapse and the world didn't end. The night continued on in absolute silence around them.

"I'm not so selfish as to think I'm the only one who lost something that day." She said quietly. The pain in his eyes couldn't escape her notice. "And you're from Banora." She added.

"You've been there?" He asked, taking a few unconscious steps back towards her.

"I've seen the crater." Or what was left of it. Shinra had so much to answer for.

He returned to the bar in slow strides. Finally he stood in front of her and searched her eyes intently. She met his gaze and held out his empty glass. The look of hope in his eyes, painfully raw, was plain as day. She was hit with the desire to see that hope fulfilled. His were eyes that should shine with delight, not be broken with mourning.

He took the glass. She picked one for herself and the bottle of Banora White wine and served them both, the expensive liquor splashing against the side of the glass.

"To those gone then." He said softly, holding up his glass and meeting her eyes. "And to those who endure in their stead."

She met his glass with a sad smile and together they drank.

It was strong, a little bit sweet and ever so slightly bitter. A good fit. She savoured the taste, closing her eyes for a moment. She opened them again to find him watching her with gentle eyes.

"Thank you." He said, his voice thick with emotion. She ducked her head, unsure how she should feel. A toast to the lost encompassed so many.

He sat again, next to her and facing away from the bar just like she was. She fingered the stem of the wine glass, watching the rest of it swirl. He watched her.

"I've never had this before." She offered self-consciously. "I don't usually drink anything off the top shelf." It was expensive and sophisticated. Not usually her style.

"Do you like it?" He asked.

"I like it very much." She said softly, finally looking up at him.

"So do I." He said, something like satisfaction in his expression. His hand stretched out and ran gently along her bare upper arm. She shivered.

"One day," he began, speaking tentatively as though afraid he might scare her away. "Will you tell me about those you lost?"

"One day." She agreed.

* * *

Things changed after that day. He had expected to be cast out forever, but it seemed his honesty and forthrightness on the subject meant a lot to her.

They were both less serious now and yet much more so.

Genesis could not have predicted the change, but he was glad for it. He saw less of the wide friendly smile she gave to everyone and more of a small gentle smile that reached her eyes. She brushed his hand when giving him his drink and he kissed hers when saying good night because he knew how to be a gentleman. She laughed and listened and spoke in hushed whispers to him as each evening drew to a close. He treasured every moment.

All Genesis knew was that Tifa was too precious for him to lose, even if she wasn't really his to begin with. He'd just have to remedy that.

Genesis strode into the bar, feeling nervous and doing a fine job of acting as though he wasn't. It was still morning and the bar was closed. So it wasn't really a bar he was entering but a home. Here he wasn't a customer but a guest.

Someone else was just leaving as he entered.

"Goodbye Tifa." A blonde man with absurd spikes of hair called. He was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking around for the currently missing brunette.

"See you Cloud! Be safe!" She called, her voice muffled by the distance. She must have been in the store room.

"You too." Cloud mumbled, looking down with disappointment and turning to leave.

He was startled by the sight of Genesis. Clouds eyes narrowed at him, obviously having noted the glow in his eye. The blonde took a step back, his hand instinctively moving towards his hilt.

Genesis scoffed at him.

"Good morning, Tifa!" He called out.

"Genesis! I'll be out in a minute, just make yourself comfortable!" Her voice returned.

Clouds head snapped around to look where her voice had come from, and then whipped back to look at him with even greater dislike. His hand most begrudgingly lowered from his weapon. Genesis crossed his arms and remained unmoved.

Cloud scowled and offered no comment. He brushed past Genesis, out the door to the monstrous motorbike waiting by the curb.

What a rude individual.

Genesis dismissed it and was about to find himself a seat when he was faced with a child. She must have snuck in while he was puzzling over was the recently departed Cloud and now she stood right in front of him. She watched him with an adorably studious expression.

"Do you like Tifa?" she asked, apropos of nothing at all.

"I like her very much." He replied easily. "You must be the delightful Miss Wallace." He had seen her on occasion during the days along with a little boy. She had a pink ribbon in her hair and looked about nine years old.

"My name's Marlene." She said with a smile, sticking out her hand for him to shake. "And you're Genesis." She stood closer to him, giving him a look of strict inspection. "Do you like macaroni cheese?"

"Yes I do, though I prefer spaghetti bolognaise." He replied airily, unbothered by the random nature of the question.

"Me too. Do you like flowers?" She enquired, her head tilted to the side.

"Of course, who doesn't like flowers?" He wasn't about to wear them in his hair but he appreciated beautiful things.

"Some people don't like them." She replied sombrely. "Do you like colouring in?"

"I cannot say that I do, Marlene."

She gave him a look of grave disappointment that had him scrambling for something to make up for it. "I play the violin." He offered, having no idea if that was an adequate substitute.

She hummed in thought, apparently deciding whether or not such an answer was worthy. Genesis had no idea how he had suddenly come to be at the mercy of a nine year old.

"Cats or dogs?" She asked, returning to form.

"I confess I am a cat person."

"Do you like apple pie?"

"I love apple pie." He said with a smile.

She looked at him very seriously.

"Can you  _make_  apple pie?" She asked with narrowed eyes. He felt his smile grow wider.

"Only if you're very good." He replied in a mock serious tone. She huffed at that. "Have I passed the test Marlene, or do you have more questions?"

"Just one more." She said, holding her hands behind her back. "Are you respectable?"

He gave a short chuckle at that. "I'm sure that's a matter of opinion. What do you think?"

"Hmm. Daddy says girls should only talk to boys who are respectable." She replied, delivering her father's edict with a nod.

"Your father is a very wise man." He observed. More than one father of beautiful girls had pronounced him grossly unrespectable in the past but he liked to think he was a better now. He wasn't quite the self-obsessed heart breaker he had been, but he was hoping he still had the charm that had served him so well in those days.

Tifa finally emerged from the store room, her hair escaping a messy bun and her leather skirt shorter than the one she wore while working the bar.

"I see you've introduced yourself, Marlene." She said. The little girl turned and skipped back to her.

"I like him Tifa, but I'm not sure he's respectable." She said, giving her report with absolute seriousness. Tifa's smile was equally serious as she nodded in understanding.

"Oh dear. Should we send him away?" She asked.

"He says he can make apple pie." Marlene said, looking back at him unsurely.

Tifa laughed at that. "Oh, well, in that case."

"Can we keep him?" Marlene asked in a whisper he heard clearly. Tifa, who had been looking at him when she asked, blushed and looked back to the little girl. Genesis restrained his smile from being too smug.

"Alright missy, you've got homework to do." She said.

Marlene was promptly sent upstairs and it was just him and Tifa. She smiled at him and retied her hair.

"I hope I am not intruding?" He asked with a smile. The light of day did wondrous things to her complexion and wine red eyes.

"Not at all, I'm sorry for making you wait. What did I miss?" She asked, sending a sly look in the direction Marlene had disappeared.

"As nerve-wracking an interrogation as I have ever endured. I suspect she has Turk training." He replied with a wry smile.

"Rude does babysit on occasion." She said.

"I sincerely hope you're joking." He replied, remembering the lethal silent Turk.

"Don't tell her dad, he'll have a fit."

He had no idea whether or not she was joking and she thought that was hilarious.


	3. Chapter 3

The bar was closed.

That never happened, not on a Saturday night. This wasn't just a regular Saturday though and Genesis was fairly certain he knew what had caused this anomaly.

He had come tonight to check on her. Not just because she was the closest friend he had or because she stirred up feelings in him that let him breathless. On today of all days, it felt cowardly to not show his face. If she didn't want his company he would understand, but he would at least offer it.

He knocked but the doors remained dark and locked before him. Other patrons turned aside in disappointment at the close of their favourite watering hole. They would find sustenance elsewhere for the night. Any other evening he would be thrilled at having her all to himself, instead he was just anxious.

It was a clear and warm evening. There wasn't a cloud in the sky or a breath of wind in the air.

He strained his ears for a sound; his enhanced hearing should be able to pick up any noise in the building. There was nothing. She might not even be home.

There. The sound of glass tinkling. It was coming from the roof. He briefly considered flying up there but immediately discarded the thought of such gross invasion of privacy. He really had come a long way since his trellis-climbing days.

He knocked once more, despite being fairly sure he wouldn't get an answer.

Much to his surprise Marlene opened the door. The chain was still across the door as she peered out. She recognized him and opened it fully. He wasn't just a customer anymore.

"Is everything alright?" He asked, knowing full well that everything was most certainly not alright.

"Tifa's not very happy." she said, looking down in dejection. "She's on the roof if you want to see her."

"Thank you, Marlene. I'll see if she wishes for my company."

He ascended the narrow stair case at the back of the house onto the roof, knowing the route well by now. He had been welcomed with open arms. It was more than he deserved and in his eyes Tifa deserved everything he had to give in return.

She was sitting on a rusting chair with her back to him. An old iron brazier stood cold and forgotten before her. A bottle hung carelessly from her fingers.

"Tifa." He called.

She turned her head slightly, not enough to see him.

"I didn't expect to see you tonight." She turned back to stare at the pile of ashes collected inside the base of the brazier.

"I can leave if you'd like." It was her roof and her day of remembrance.

"No, don't go." She finally looked up at him. There were no tears on her face but she looked tired.

He pulled up a second rusting chair and sincerely hoped it would hold his weight. Above them stretched an endless expanse of stars. A few years ago an impenetrable wall of smog had hidden it all but finally the haze was wasting away and vibrant beauty radiated through, strong enough for them to both see clearly.

She took a gulp from her bottle and then examined the peeling label in the haunting starlight. He didn't recognize it.

"Nibelheim's local ale." She explained with a crooked smile that was more of a scowl. "The last bottle."

"Remembering?" He asked. He'd never seen her sullen like this before. She'd been angry, sad, happy, afraid and a whole spectrum of other emotions but she had always had a drive in her. It was absent tonight. On the anniversary of Nibelheim's destruction who could blame her?

"Eight years ago today." She said with a sigh. "How time flies when you're having fun. I can still smell the smoke."

He held his hand out for the bottle and she drew it back to her chest, looking affronted as though he was going to steal it from her.

"You should never drink alone." He said.

"You do." She said, begrudgingly handing it over.

"But I shouldn't." He took a sip. Then he tried not to cough through the searing bitterness. The ale, if it could be called that, burned its way down his throat without mercy.

"It's not very nice, is it?" She said with a sad little twist to her lips.

"It's not the most refined vintage." He said delicately, patting himself on the chest and trying to regain his composure. That ale was worse than most poisons. No wonder Tifa was so strong if she was raised on that stuff.

"'A good punch to the gut, right when you need it.' That was what my Father would say." She retrieved the bottle and took a long sip, the last. Her eyes fell back to the cold brazier. The bottle was finally empty. She closed her eyes and let it fall from her limp fingers.

Genesis waited a respectful moment before asking.

"Did he die in the fire?" He asked softly.

She gave a single harsh laugh and shook her head. "No, Masamune. Got me too actually." She lifted up the bottom of her shirt; just enough for him to see the smooth scar that ran diagonally up from her lower abdomen to disappear under her shirt. He bowed his head at the sight of it. He'd seen many such wounds, almost always on corpses. She studied her own scar with a frown. "I guess this is pretty much a best case scenario." She let her shirt fall back down to drape around her loosely.

"It's healed well." He said roughly. She shouldn't have to carry such a thing. Life could be so cruel. That blade had been crueller still. "Nobody can see it."

"I can see it." She said.

"Then you carry it well." He took her hand, just wanting to hold her and provide what little comfort he could.

She looked up at their joined hands, an odd look in her eye.

"I was afraid you might apologize again." She looked almost relieved. "I'm sick of hearing how sorry everyone is."

"I've made my apologies." He said, his thumb running gently over the back of her hand. "All I can do now is be better than I was."

She offered him a tremulous smile. She shuffled her chair closer to his, until she could lean against him and he draped his arm around her waist.

"You asked once who I lost." She said quietly into the night, not looking up at him. "Her name was Aerith and she was my friend." His arm tightened around her and she took a breath before continuing softly. "His name was Cloud and I was in love with him."

Genesis didn't move. He noted the use of past tense in her phrasing and held onto it desperately.

"Cloud Strife is still alive." He said, hating himself for it.

"I don't call that living." She replied. "But life isn't going to wait for me and I'm done competing with ghosts." There was no pain in her voice, just exhaustion and a sort of resignation that he recognised. The sting of coming second place. He knew that intimately.

"The sun will rise tomorrow and I will be there to greet it." She said, sitting a little straighter. Then she caught sight of the now empty bottle of horrendous ale. "Well, maybe the day after."

"Such strength Tifa." He ran a finger under her chin and gently tipped her face up to look at him. "No wonder the lost and lonely flock to your bar."

"I do sell the cheapest beer in town."

"Your resilience is an inspiration to all privileged enough to see it." He said, his hand around her waist and drawing her closer still. He felt inspired by her as he hadn't been in years. "You are a breath of fresh air in a land mired by stagnation, and greater beauty than I have ever seen. I don't think you know how very captivating you are."

"Genesis…" She murmured with such tenderness in her eyes.

He caressed her cheek, gently brushing aside her hair. She looked up at him, large red eyes searching.

"Tifa," He said, his voice barely a whisper, "You have stolen my heart."

Her soft smile blossomed and her eyes sparkled with delight, leaving no room for regret or tiredness.

"Just as you've taken mine." She whispered back, her voice thick with emotion.

It was impossible to tell who had initiated it but slowly they drifted together, their lips tenderly meeting. Genesis' arm tightened around her waist when a soft needy noise escaped her. Her hands drifted up, one gently holding the nape of his neck and the other entangled in his hair. The stars glittered above and Edge fell away below as they lost themselves in each other.


End file.
